


Weary

by purplefury



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Mentions of Primrose's Backstory, other characters appear, we support supportive women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplefury/pseuds/purplefury
Summary: Conflicted after the events of Northreach, H’aanit seeks Primrose’s counsel. Together, they learn what it means to have faith.A companion piece to"How The Mighty Have Fallen"
Relationships: Primrose Azelhart/H'aanit
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Weary

Healing light and gentle words. That’s all H’aanit can remember before falling asleep under Ophilia’s devoted care. When she awakes, Ophilia sleeps beside her on their shared bed. Linde sprawls across their legs, her tail dangling off the edge.

_The inn_ , she confirms. For how long did she rest here? 

Carefully, H’aanit leaves the bed and makes her way toward the window. Pushing away a section of the curtain, a calm and overcast sky greets her. From the few townsfolk who roam the streets, she assesses that it’s early. They walk with hurried steps and quick glances, as if they’re skeptical of recent events. 

H’aanit ponders what happened, as well. Therion, Linde, Darius, fear, mockery, rage, guilt… it’s all too much.

A rousing Linde sees her friend sneaking toward the door. Upon H’aanit’s insistence and a scratch behind her ears, the leopard cozies up to Ophilia and purrs.

Quietly closing the door behind her, she encounters Olberic leaving his own room. He reads the confusion on her face and gestures toward a door.

“Primrose is in there, should you wish to speak to her.”

“Thou knowest?”

“I know many things, my friend.”

She notices Olberic’s full attire - an early riser, regardless of the weather.

“Headeth for a stroll?”

“Of sorts,” he adjusts his coat. “I wish to patrol the town, in case brigands linger in the alleys. I grow restless if I do nothing.”

H’aanit hums in affirmation. “And what of Cyrus?” 

“Fast asleep, the last I checked. The magic has taken a toll on his body, but it is nothing rest cannot fix.”

“I see,” she sighs. “Thanken thee.”

“Any time,” Olberic places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “If you need anything at all, you need only say the word.” 

Heavy footsteps echo through the halls, and only she remains.

Whenever possible, the group occupies four rooms at the end of a hall. She deduces where Alfyn and Therion stay and gently knocks on the door. 

A disheveled Alfyn meets her own frazzled state, his axe in hand.

“Mornin’. You should be asleep,” Alfyn whispers. Still, he knows why she’s here and doesn’t press further. He moves aside to give her a better view.

Bandages and vials of medicine line the bedside table. A tuft of white hair sticks out from the mound of blankets, which rises and falls with each steady breath. 

“He’s had a rough night. Should let him rest,” Alfyn speaks softly. Dark circles highlight his own fatigue, yet neither of them have the energy to admonish the other.

“Ah, sorry. Ya need anythin’ from me?”

“Nay… but thanken thee. Resten well, if thou canst.”

They console each other with hugs, and Alfyn returns to Therion’s side. Unlike the remorse from moons ago, the strength in his tired eyes resonates with her.

_He hath foundeth his purpose again_ , she thinks to herself.

Onto the initial task, then.

“Primrose? ‘Tis H’aanit,” she softly knocks against her door. A few seconds pass, and she hears rustling on the other side. 

The door opens slightly, and a bleary-eyed Primrose greets her. The partially-hidden dagger is loose in her grip.

“I am sorry, dost thou requiren rest?”

“No, you’re fine,” Primrose beckons her inside and shuts the door. “Can’t sleep, but I’m not in the mood to head out.”

H’aanit seats herself on the closest chair. The room is dark, save for the oil lamp that flickers upon the table. Rubbing the aches in her shoulders, she’s unsure where to begin. Her companions are safe - physically, at least. It does little to quell her befuddled mind.

“Any news of Therion?” Primrose asks as she places her dagger beside the lamp.

“I hath checketh the room before mine arrival. He sleepeth soundly,” H’aanit says in solemn relief.

“And you’re not?” Primrose slides over a second chair. “To be fair, you don’t have Alfyn keeping you in bed.”

“He hath wieldeth his axe, as well,” H’aanit notes with slight amusement. The two share the traits of an axe and brazen protectiveness. It pains her that Therion only sleeps heavily under terrible circumstances, but she trusts Alfyn to take care of him.

“Tressa hath awaketh so soon?” she gazes at the empty half of the bed.

“She took Therion’s boots and went looking for a cobbler in town. Maybe I helped,” Primrose shrugs. “Holes within holes. It’s a miracle he didn’t lose his feet up here. If nothing else, we’ll purchase new ones - pay the folks extra.”

“‘Tis kind of thee both. I hopeth the town canst healen from the beast’s reign,” H’aanit feels latent anger rise within her, yet her muscles are too tired to bear it. Beyond fatigue lies a hollow pain in her chest, one that leads her to seek a sympathetic ear.

“So the bastard’s gone, then,” Primrose states bluntly, but her tone’s gentle as she continues. “Would’ve loved to give him my kind regards, but it seems you feel differently.” 

“…Thou art correct,” H’aanit admits. Throughout her travels, she has learned the value of confiding in others. As one of the elder members of the group (though twenty-six years is no mark of old age), she prides herself in comforting those around her. Sometimes, she seeks comfort herself. There’s no shame in the admission; she acknowledges such growth. 

Her words beckon Primrose closer. She takes H’aanit’s hand in her own, noting how it trembles in her grasp.

“I’m here. You can tell me anything.”

Her gaze is warm. Comforting.

It gives her strength.

“The beast hath spoken lies to hurten Therion… and hurten, he didst,” H’aanit takes a shaky breath. “Never afore hath I seen such fear in his eyes… and never hath such rage filleth mine veins.” 

“That explains what we saw, then,” Primrose says with sadness in her eyes. She remembers it well: swirling clouds, jagged streaks of light, and the fury of a woman scorned. She feared the cathedral would collapse at that moment, but the sky calmed before they could reach that grim fate.

H’aanit’s hand moves to rest upon Primrose’s waist, upon the jagged scar hidden beneath her nightgown. 

“...I groweth weary of the betrayals.”

The words linger in the air, weighing upon H’aanit like snow against the rooftops. The vile acts committed against her friends grow with each town they visit. While she wouldn’t trade the journey for anything else, she fears that she’ll collapse from the strain. 

Primrose makes the connection. Silently, she motions for H’aanit to stand before gently wrapping her arms around her waist. It takes a second in her hazy state, but H’aanit returns the gesture. They breathe in sync, reveling in warmth amidst the morning chill.

“How I wisheth to protecteth those dearest to me...” H’aanit rests her chin upon Primrose’s shoulder. “Why must mine friends sufferen at the hands of the cruel?”

Primrose tightens the embrace, yet she cannot find the right words. _Life is cruel_ , her past self would say with an edge. A town of endless shade and shady men, she endured it all behind her shield of faith. Each day she spends with her companions is a light among shadows, but the shadows still lurk. 

“I often ask myself the same question.”

H’aanit is silent, rubbing circles against Primrose’s back as she ponders an answer. It only raises another concern.

“Perhaps I now understandest a piece of thy burden.”

“What?” Primrose ends the hug to look into H’aanit’s conflicted eyes. 

“Didst I sayest something odd?” 

“No, not at all,” Primrose answers. “It’s… that’s not something you can compare. No matter the size, they weigh you down all the same.” 

Unbeknownst to H’aanit, it’s a revelation Primrose made recently. Over time, she witnesses how others shield her when her faith wavers. Maybe she can be the shield herself.

“For the longest time, I’ve only looked out for myself. But here you are, taking on everyone’s burdens. Not all are so willing.” 

“I only wisheth I canst doen more.”

“You do so much for us. More than you know,” Primrose tries to reassure. “And Therion… he’s safe because of you.”

“If I hath not stoppen mine rage, he wouldst lieth beneath the rubble,” H’aanit trembles. There’s no rubble. He stopped her, she listened, and they’re here. By Therion’s words, she didn’t have to do this for him. And yet, this doesn’t soothe her. What if she _did_? The manner in which that beast taunted her friend threatens to ignite her once more. 

A gentle touch grounds her thoughts.

“Deep breaths, H’aanit.” 

H’aanit stills her tongue from the regrets, the possible ends to their journeys. She follows Primrose’s lead as the two inhale… and exhale. 

One… two… three… 

It’s a well-practiced rhythm between them, for even H’aanit needs someone to guide her through the emotions. There’s no shame in the task.

When they finish, she’s of calmer mind and body.

“Better?” Primrose asks.

“Aye. I thinketh.”

“It’s a good start,” she speaks softly, gesturing toward the bed. “You’re exhausted. Let’s rest.”

H’aanit hums without protest, fatigue weighing down her muscles as she lies down. Primrose follows suit and pulls the blankets over their chests. 

Eyes shut, H’aanit takes in the quiet moment. The gentle words from before swirl in her head, offering some peace of mind.

“Ophilia hath tellen a tale whilst healing me,” H’aanit recalls aloud, unkempt hair spilling across the pillows.

“Oh?” Primrose rolls onto her side, giving her full attention.

“Rememberen the full tale, I cannot, but tryest, I shall,” H’aanit thinks in silence. Primrose is ever patient.

“She hath tellen me how the goddess Draefendi letten loose her rage to defendest a dear friend. Even the god Aelfric hath coweren from a might unseen. Earneth respect, she hath, but slumber hath taketh me before I couldst hearen the end.” 

“Fate works in interesting ways, doesn’t it? We’ll have to ask her for the rest,” Primrose fully settles beneath the covers. “Thank you for telling me.”

H’aanit’s protectiveness comes naturally; she’s almost envious. For years, Primrose believed her twisted heart was incapable of selfless deeds, but she’s learning. She wants to do better.

It’s H’aanit’s turn to give her full attention.

“Thou art shaking.”

Primrose clutches a handful of the blanket, halts, and repeats.

“...Do you remember my friend Yusufa?”

There’s a shift in tone that she cannot place. Primrose spoke of the name briefly, dancing around the subject before closing the curtain on the matter. She recalls the woman showed a great kindness, and genuine kindness toward Primrose is worthy of H’aanit’s respect. 

“Aye,” she responds. “Pray remindeth me of her wisdom.”

“Well…” Dark memories resurface, but Primrose wades through the fog to find the light. “This is difficult.”

“Taketh thy time,” H’aanit reaches for Primrose’s hand. 

Primrose accepts it with a smile, running her thumb across calloused skin.

“I always kept my distance, yet she told me that, deep down, I had a good heart,” Primrose quotes somberly. 

A good heart? The words are familiar.

“Yusufa had faith in me when no one else did. She’s the only one I wanted to protect back then… and I couldn’t. So let me make things right.”

“How so?” H’aanit asks. Hearing the regret in Primrose’s wavering voice, she understands not to press further beyond the question. Still, she is ever patient.

“I want to protect our friends,” Primrose breaks the silence. “When the burdens are too heavy, I’ll shoulder them for you. It’s time I make use of this ‘good heart’... not only for Yusufa’s sake, but for my own.” 

H’aanit may never comprehend the depth of Primrose’s anguish. Even so, she feels gratitude toward her confession, and woe betide her if she denies the noble cause. 

“Of course,” H’aanit gives a warm smile. “‘Tis a wish I canst honor, but know that I shall always protecteth thine heart.”

Primrose pulls her into a thankful hug beneath the covers.

“You’ve done your part,” she whispers against her ear. “Your next one is rest.”

H’aanit sighs in understanding. She drifts closer into sleep’s embrace, but worries interrupt it once more.

“I needeth mine axe.”

“No need,” Primrose cuts in. “You can have faith in me.”

It’s the quiet determination, the fire in her eyes, that eases H’aanit’s worries.

“...Thanken thee.” And deep sleep befalls her. 

The sun rises higher, and the turn of a lock signals Tressa’s return from the shops. When she enters, Primrose greets her with a nod. One arm wraps protectively around H’aanit’s form, while her free hand combs through H’aanit’s hair in smooth motions. She’s fast asleep, heavy but even breaths filling the room.

“Should’ve brought more food, huh?” Tressa speaks in a hushed voice, placing a set of two bowls on Primrose’s side of the room. One bowl acts as a cover, and Tressa lifts it to reveal slices of dried fruits - a staple in the frigid north.

“Hope this’ll tide you over - they’re really good!” Tressa whispers excitedly. “I’ll come back with more, if you want.”

“I think we’re all right,” Primrose continues to stroke H’aanit’s hair. “But thank you.”

“See you later, then?” Tressa gathers her belongings.

“We’ll see you then.”

Tressa winks on the way out.

Primrose breathes deeply and holds H’aanit closer. For now, she can be the protector. Faith shall be another’s shield, and it’s a role she’ll play with pride.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic happened on a whim as I listened to the track “Town Veiled in White” - the whole octopath soundtrack is beautiful, really. I’m rather fond of h’aanrose too, so I’m happy I could write something more proper c:
> 
> Current events have me feeling weary myself, but I’m doing my best to rest and jump back into things when I can. stay safe <3
> 
> I might revive twitter, but for now, you can find me on tumblr @ purple-fury !  
> \-----  
> Edit: I've revived my [twitter](https://twitter.com/purplefury_)!


End file.
